


someone said count your blessings now

by glitteration



Series: pour a little salt; we were never here [1]
Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 14:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14833664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration
Summary: Proof positive hell has frozen over: John Gilbert is the only person Jenna wants to see.( missing scene from 2x15, after Ric bounces. )





	someone said count your blessings now

They might not have said the words yet, but Jenna’s been dumped enough to know when it’s over. The loss aches, and then once the last bits of wine from dinner wear off it _burns_ , and Jenna finds herself staring at the ceiling of a room that had felt like it might be becoming hers and seeing Miranda in every crack.

Sneaking downstairs at two am to get wasted isn’t exactly the choice of Guardian of the Year, but after everything Jenna deserves the dip into the well of poor life choices. At least booze and junk food aren’t getting Mason to answer his goddamned phone and running off to Florida with him like she did after the Monica debacle.

Half a bottle down and way too far into pathetic drunkville to feel good about, there’s a telltale creak at the foot of stairs. It’s too heavy a tread to be Elena, and Jeremy knows perfectly well where the squeaky boards are.

That leaves a pool of exactly one suspect. “Hey, dickhead. Come drink with me.”

John rounds the corner, looking incongruously not-terrible in his pajamas. Then he accurately assesses how much she’s had and the judgment just about _drips_ off him, restoring balance to the force. “It’s an appealing offer, but I think I’ll pass.”

“I’m pretty sure you just brought on the end of literally the only healthy adult relationship I’ve ever had, and I’m _also_ sure your party crashing was the reason tonight featured the worst dinner party ever. The least you can do is be the barrier between me and the stigma of drinking alone.”

“...I guess that’s fair.” He sits, bare feet shining fish belly white in the half-dark of the kitchen, and in a stunning turn of events, he shuts up and drinks. The clock ticks through its rotations without them until the bottle is down to its last swallow and John looks over at her, pupils blown out but eyes sharp, taking in all the obvious ways in which she is not all right.

He inhales, looking like maybe he’s actually regretting parachuting back into town and wrecking her life, and with dawning horror Jenna can see sympathy start to form where she’s literally never seen it before. He presses his lips together, downing the last swallow right out of the bottle and then squaring his shoulders like a man walking into battle. “Look, Jenna…”

Oh, no. Oh _no_. Furious tears threaten and she feels her hands ball into fists, nails biting into her palms. The only reason John is appealing right now is the fact that he has never once been sorry for being impossible to deal with. If he ruins all that by apologizing, it very well could be what breaks the dam holding back all the ugly crying she can feel gathering in her future. “If you say ‘I’m sorry’, I swear to God will murder you in your sleep.”

John laughs, a short surprised bark. “No, that definitely wasn’t what I was going to say.”

“Because you’re not.”

Crossing over to the liquor cabinet, he grabs a bottle of scotch and raises it in an ironic toast. “No, Jenna, I’m not.”

They drink in silence for a while, the ticking of the clock near the fridge loud and the only thing in the room willing to give an inch and move forward.

Finally, Jenna can’t take it anymore. “So what _were_ you going to say?”

“It wasn’t healthy. Not if all it took was a few questions to send the whole thing to pieces.”

Jenna rears back, stung. “And what the hell do you know about healthy relationships? Last I checked, you weren’t exactly batting a thousand on your romantic CV, either.”

“I may not know healthy relationships, but you’re right. But like you so kindly just pointed out, I certainly know unhealthy ones.”

“You’re such an asshole.” The scotch burns less and less with each sip, a sure sign she’s headed to the kind of drunk she will regret tomorrow but is looking forward to with a certain glee as it barrels towards her. “Is it me? Do I give off some kind of weird ‘please, treat me like crap’ vibe?”

John practically squirms in his chair, casting a longing look in the direction of the stairs. “Are you sure I’m the person you want for this conversation?”

“Oh yeah. For a couple reasons.” She ticks them off on her fingers. “One: as we’ve previously established you’re an asshole, so I know you’ll be honest. Two, you’re somehow the only person left in town who knows most of my pre-college exes and would even be able to weigh in on this. Three, you really _really_ really clearly don’t want to do it.” And anything that makes John uncomfortable feels like a great idea right now. “Just because I’m less pissed at you than I am at Ric this very second doesn’t mean I’m _not_ pissed at you.”

“I need more alcohol for this.”

“You and me both, pal, but whose fault is that?”

It’s a rhetorical question, and they both drink in silence until John finally huffs loudly and breaks it. “It _is_ you, you know. You chase the kind of men who inevitably fuck everything up.”

“Says one of the men.”

“Says an expert, by that rubric.”

There’s something soft in his voice, a hint of regret she’s never heard from him before, not even at the funeral, and the urge to mock him is submerged under the ache in her chest. “I really liked him, John. I thought it was going somewhere, but here I am. Getting drunk in my kitchen. With you.”

“Here we are.” He raises his glass and she clinks it with hers in an ironic toast. “You deserve better than what he’s offering, Jenna.”

Emotion clogs her throat. “Don’t pretend you care.”

“No, listen to me. You do.” He catches her hand in his, crushing her fingers with sudden intensity. “He’s not who you think he is.”

Jenna feels her heart beat an uncomfortable tattoo against her breastbone, as pinned by the shift in John’s mood as she is by his grasp on her hand. “Oh wow, you… really do not like him.” Laughing a little, she tries to push away the feeling that whatever Ric won’t tell her, John might. “It can’t be jealousy, even you aren’t big enough of an asshole to hate a guy over loving his dead wife.”

John’s eyes narrow, and he inhales, then lets the breath free without speaking and releases his grip on her hand. His teeth flash white in the dim kitchen, and mood firmly shifts back to familiar ground. “Oh, I am absolutely that.”

“...Ugh. Men.” Taking the rest of her glass as a shot, Jenna stands and sighs, glaring at the clock over John’s head. “Well, despite you and your gender being the absolute worst, I have a life to live and a doctorate to earn. I’m going to bed, feel free to find another place to crash by morning.”

John smiles, charming and utterly insincere. “See you for breakfast.”

“Ass.”

The world must be ending, she thinks on the way up the stairs, because John might have actually _helped_. He was going to tell her something, and once she’s sober and relatively collected, she can make him tell her what it was.

This time when she gets into bed, she sleeps like a rock.

**Author's Note:**

> THE NOSTALGIIIIIIIA


End file.
